Junip

Mute;
2013

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Music from this release

Getting the band back together may end up being the smartest move in Jose Gonzalez’s career. The Swede started Junip in the early 2000s with drummer Elias Araya and synth player Tobias Winterkorn, but the trio released only one EP before Gonzalez hit paydirt with his solo minimalist motorik bossa nova folk. That signature style, which emphasized rhythm and melody equally, produced two LPs, although it may have been his transformative covers of songs by the Knife, Joy Division, and Massive Attack that got Gonzalez the most notice. Just when it sounded like he could either break through or fade away, up jumped Junip again to add some muscle to his music. The basic elements of Gonzalez’s solo material remained, but “Rope and Summit”, their first single as a reconstituted group, remains one of the best things Gonzalez has ever done: a pithy statement of intent but also the standard against which all subsequent songs will be measured.

There’s nothing quite so streamlined or quite so dramatic on Junip, the band’s follow-up to their 2010 debut, Fields, although there’s also nothing to suggest the band is flailing. Mainly they simply keep on chugging. What worked on Fields works just as well here; what didn’t still doesn’t; and constancy may be the band’s greatest weakness. “Nice” and “easy” have been common descriptors, only somewhat derisive in their application, suggesting that many people think of Gonzalez’s music as aural wallpaper: music for making dinner or babies. While that’s not necessarily untrue, Junip at least try to dispel that perception on their self-titled album, which is ambitious in its details. A Spanish guitar snakes in between the mushrooming synths and bobbing bass of “Suddenly”, barely coalescing into the melody. The short “Villain” pushes Araya to the forefront, turning his pounding drums into the lead instrument. Junip is no solo project; instead, it comes across as a collaboration among equals.

Nevertheless, Winterkorn is especially crucial on Junip, perhaps even more so than Gonzalez himself. His synths and keyboards not only define the atmosphere of the album but usually determine the structure of the songs. He creates the maelstrom into which the rhythm and melody sail. With its pleading lyrics and desperate melody, opener “Line of Fire” builds carefully and patiently as Gonzalez and Araya trace bold straight lines into Winterkorn’s pattern of scribbles, as though stepping intrepidly into some crisis. It’s a tack they use repeatedly, but it proves effective throughout the album, especially on the tense standout “So Clear”.

Gonzalez’s voice, which has sounded limited in the past (especially on his solo albums), takes on a new tranquility in this context. He’ll never be criticized for emoting or overstating, and the fact that nothing flusters him surely gives his songs a certain chill, as if he can forget to be human. Nevertheless, that coolness is crucial to Junip, whose songs are all about crisis and commitment. The band eschew anything resembling experience or autobiography in order to focus on the hard-won lesson or the encouraging observation. “Step back from the line of fire,” Gonzalez advises on “Line of Fire”. “It’s your life, it's your call,” he sings on “Your Life Your Call”, which would come across as coldly dismissive if it didn’t sound so much like Hot Chip. After a while, the album begins to resemble a motivational speech set to music, exhorting its listener while revealing so little about its creators. Ultimately, Junip keep their distance, offering a comforting hand on your shoulder rather than a full and unreserved embrace.